Grey as the morning waters
by msarahv
Summary: AU-Human The Winchester brothers don't always agree, but they are partners and would each would dive in front of a bullet for the other. During a routine art theft case, Sam meets up with an error of his past and after a narrow escape, Dean finds himself on his own, on the run and helpless. A strange elusive man, Castiel mercifully takes him in but is Dean really safe?
1. Unexpected allies

Dean walked to the backdoor of the warehouse, silent as ever, but with bright alertness. He loved that part of his work. The adrenaline was running high, all of his senses were at their most shrewd and his brother was waiting a few feet away, ready to pounce if the thief tried to run. His eyes met one of Sam's (he should really get a haircut, the guy looked like Bobby's old English sheepdog, half-blinded by his bangs and large as a small house) in the semi-darkness and he saw the small nod. It was all he needed before working the door open.

It was difficult to walk. The place was cramped and the only light came from one of the corners. A shadow was obscuring it. Dean smiled. This job was one of the easiest... Well it had taken some time to find any lead and once again they had to ask for the police help, using the totally-fake-but-totally-convincing FBI's badge that was tucked away in his pocket. It was astounding how just wearing a good-looking suit helped with the charade. They had gotten a lead, then a name, Ruby, and after a harsh look-around, they were ready to take action.

The gun he pressed against her neck was a very real one, not FBI issued but terribly effective and discreet. Ruby tried to shake him away and they struggled for a while until Sam came to his rescue. Dean was panting, angry but amazed too, to meet a woman that strong. He was about to make a comment about that when he saw Sam's eyes open up wide:

"Kristy?"

The good part was that "Ruby/Kristy" stopped fidgeting, staring back at Sam with the same shocked eyes. The bad part was that Dean had no idea whatsoever who that girl was and that was weird. Had she met Sam in college? It was about the only time the brothers had been apart.

He smirked :Not that I want to interrupt your class reunions, guys, but we have a painting to find, remember Sam?"

Ruby turned to him, frowning but Dean barely paid attention.

Sam's neck was reddening and he was looking very embarrassed:

"It's not... We didn't..." Sam was full blushing now.

Dean barked "You didn't what? Who's this girl Sammy? And why do you look like you're about to pee on the carpet?"

His brother's expression thankfully turned to one of his usual bitch face. Dean felt more in his element but then he heard a laugh:

"Oh, come on, Sam... You didn't tell your old brother here what happened? Too ashamed for that?"

Thankfully for him, Dean was cautious and didn't let Ruby take advantage of his confusion to flee. In fact, he crushed her hands as tight as he could, feeling an undefined anger build in his chest:

"Sam, come on, what's going on?"

Finally he got an answer and he didn't like it:

"Remember the Vermeer case...?"

Oh God, yes, Dean remembered. They had found where the painting was, like the awesome private detectives they were (in the art scene they were even referred as "hunters" who always got their prey, or masterpiece, rather) and Bam! Everything had gone to shit as someone else had stolen the painting before they got to it.

Sami was still talking, all guilty-looking and annoyed, while Ruby smirked:

"I might have told Kristy about it..."

"You told an art thief about a stolen painting?"

"No, I told a waitress..."

"Of course, you fucking spend your time in bars blabbering about our cases! Like I'd believe that!"

Sami looked down and mumbled defensively:

"Not at the bar, no... In her bed..."

Ruby was gloating now:

"Best sale I ever made. I went on a grand vacation after that. Plus it was a nice lay, which is always a fine bonus."

She said the last with a poorly disguised wink in Sam's direction. Dean saw the wink and didn't know which one he wanted to hit more at that moment. He took a deep steadying breath and managed to utter a professional:

"We're not here to discuss the past. Crowley is getting impatient, let's hurry."

It was as if someone had ripped away the woman's smile. Her pupils were blown and her breathing fast:

"Crowley? What about him?"

Sam replied coldly:

"I don't know, Ruby... Maybe the fact that you stole from him? He is mighty pissed and is paying us good money. You'd better hand it now."

"Hand what?"

"Don't play dumb, sweetie" Dean growled, feeling in charge of the situation once again "You know what we're talking about. Where is it?"

If the witnesses and the lead hadn't been so damning, Dean would have hesitated. The girl had to be a consummate liar in addition to her seducing venom, but she sounded sincere as she cried to his brother:

"I didn't take anything from Crowley, I'm not crazy! The guy's a creep... I heard he tortured a thief that was trying to rob his mansion."

Nevertheless, Dean and Sam looked for the painting. Hard. It wasn't anywhere and Ruby wouldn't tell who she had sold it to. So Dean decided to act on her fear to get her to confess:

"Let's take her to Crowley. That way he'll know we found her and there's a good chance she'll talk."

Sam wasn't convinced:

"I don't know Dean... What if she's really innocent?"

It was Dean's turn to give him a bitch face and he was sure he had managed a nice one:

"Yeah, right, defend your girlfriend, Sam."

They yelled at each other all through the drive to Crowley's place, sending the usual insults, but this time there was no playfulness behind them. Dean felt fucking betrayed. Sam was intelligent and tough and for him to fall into that kind of trap... He even thought about threatening to talk to Jess about it (He didn't say it aloud. There were lines you didn't cross. Sam hadn't cheated on his fiancée, it had taken place years before they met.) just as they parked next to the pretentious gate.

The room they were in offered a striking contrast with Ruby's hiding place. Even the walls were covered with luxurious drapes and they were art pieces everywhere you looked. It made Dean want to walk away fast. Too ostentatious, too tacky. It seemed Crowley was using his wealth as a way to gain power and intimidate his visitors (Maybe because he wasn't impressive himself. Dean felt better in his presence because the man was smaller than him so he didn't feel as dwarfed by his own little brother). There was a pair of velvet curtains that Dean could have used to cover a king size bed and he would still have plenty left.

Crowley looked like a cat with cream all over his ugly mug. He was eyeing Ruby with his tongue licking his lips and Dean took a step back, taking the art thief with him. He didn't play that kind of game. Their team was clean even though they work a little outside the law. There were two goons next to the man, like demon watchdogs, not moving a muscle and yet terribly threatening.

But Dean just focused on his client, explaining they hadn't found anything:

"You need us to find out who bought it? It's gonna cost you extra, Crowley."

But the tycoon shook his head slowly:

"Must be out of the country now. You guys aren't as good as I've been told, it seems. Took you too long. But I'm a man of my word so I'll write your check."

"Right and we take her away too."

Crowley shot his hands in the air:

"Sure! A nice pair of legs, hey Dean? I'll leave her into your capable hands."

The wink that followed made Dean feel dirty, even though the idea of sleeping with one of his brother's ex hook-ups had never entered his mind.

Crowley came and handed the check to Sammy who looked thoughtful, turning the paper over and over. He spoke in a low voice that made Dean shiver

"I don't get it. You sounded enraged and horrified that your painting had been stolen and now, just like that, you're over it."

He stole a glance at Ruby, then added:

"Unless the insurance money is more interesting... Did it really get stolen? I'd rather check. Maybe it's still in the house somewhere..."

Dean acted fast, all on instinct. He released his grip on Ruby, letting her go, then ducked behind a curtain. He just had the time to see Sam being shot in the chest. The "No" he let out brought the attention of Crowley's men. Next there was a white flash.

He didn't remember what happened after that, just that he found himself outside, limping and sobbing hard. "Sammy..." His brother hated that nickname but now Dean wished he could hear his brother bitch about it. He could still see the blood when he closed his eyes. Sam had fallen down in silence.

He had no idea where Ruby was, nor where he was parked but he kept on walking until a hand fell on his shoulder:

"Are you okay?"

Dean collapsed.

"I'm Agent Henriksen. Did you get shot?"

Dean groaned. Just his luck, a real federal agent. He nodded as he pondered whether to identify as just Dean Winchester or as agent Anderson. But the man kept talking:

"I heard about you and your partner looking at an art theft. I was curious why it was a federal business so I came to help."

But Dean didn't want to lie. If they were found out in fraud, they risked... he risked (oh fuck, it hurt to think about Sammy again...) too much. So he let the truth come out of his mouth, in small broken bursts, not caring much about the shock on the agent's face. He needed him to go investigate, arrest Crowley, or at least chase him. For Sammy. For revenge.

But it never happened. A phone rang and suddenly Dean was doomed. Crowley was calling for help. He had almost been murdered by two brothers, the Winchesters, who didn't hesitate to pass as FBI agents to get close to him. He had narrowly escaped, thanks to his brave body guards. Agent Henriksen looked torn. Dean felt like Ruby, desperately needing to be trusted and yet with his actions speaking against him. He felt weak too, ready to black out any minute. He sent a desperate look that he hoped would convey his innocence.

The other man acted fast. He grabbed Dean and led him away from the car lights. Once in the dark, he whispered:

"I don't like impersonators, but I hate men like Crowley. I had him under the radar for a while, I even thought you guys were secretly working on exposing him. But right now, you're a fugitive and it's his word against yours. You need medical help."

Dean ground his teeth. He couldn't feel his left leg anymore but he didn't think he was fatally wounded. Not like Sam... Dean felt a powerful rage run through him, urging him to hop back in the mansion, look for Sammy.

He focused, whispering:

"I'll manage. My brother was shot too, you got to find his... his body, before they get rid of it." He had just said "it" about his little brother... "I just need a safe place, please."

Henriksen sighed:

"I can't put you under FBI protection. Let me think for a second..."

Dean let him think. He was discreetly tossed in a car trunk. That's when he lost consciousness.

He had a fever now but he was pretty sure the posters with dogs and cats skeleton were real as was the man wearing a white blouse poking at his leg. He had a cloth in his mouth and recognized the situation. A rudimentary medical procedure. The guy must be a vet. He was good though and soon Dean felt slightly better. He dozed off till he was delivered like a beaten parcel to another guy. Dean could swear he could hear the sound of running waters. In his drug-induced state he vaguely heard:

"Thanks Castiel, be prudent."

Those were the last words he heard before he slept for a very long time. He slept on and on. It was way better than waking up and facing the god-awful truth: he didn't have a brother anymore.


	2. Two strangers

Dean finally woke up because of the smell. If there was a fire, he'd better look for Sammy and run. Where was he already...? He remembered a cluttered place, inside a warehouse that housed a few washing machines parts. In the back, they had found the real business where the art thief...

The smell was getting stronger. He didn't have time. Dean forced his eyes open and flailed his arms around. There was more wood on the wall than he remembered, and much more sunlight too. How long had he been out? His finger found a muscled arm and he clung to it:

"Come on Sam, we've gotta run, can't you smell the smoke?"

The arm was uncooperative and fought back:

"Stop it!"

It wasn't Sammy's voice, but it was definitely male, deeply so, so not Ruby's either, and certainly not Crowley's... Dean stopped and sat down. He had been lying on a small brown couch. In front of him was the source of the smoke smell, a mess of black stovepipes running to the ceiling, all coming from a little old open stove. There was wood on the floor, ready to be burned, it seemed. A man was kneeling next to it, glaring at Dean. Two foreign icy blue eyes were making their way into his soul. Dean was about to ask what all this was about when, finally, his brain kicked in.

He would have preferred it didn't. The minutes he had just spent were mercifully free from his brother's death memories. His face must have fallen because something changed in the stare he was still submitted to. It ceased being openly hostile. The eyes lost their focus. Then the head turned to the stove, leaving only a mass of dark unbrushed hair in Dean's line of sight.

Dean lay down, fighting the tears. He wasn't one for crying, especially not with an audience. But freezing his face wasn't helping, not really. It reminded him of Sammy's bitch faces, the ones he loved causing. Sam never cried either, even as a child. If he was upset, he would withdraw, and go read a book and Dean would tease him, like big brothers did, calling him a nerd, while he fixed them dinner. He had looked after Sammy his whole life and that was all for nothing.

He tried going to sleep again, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Sam fall. Sometimes in slow motion, sometimes so quickly it raised a flow of adrenaline in Dean's system again, even though it was too late. He was trembling under the warm blanket he was under.

A new smell invaded his nostrils. Meat. He heard a small thump next to him:

"You like hamburgers? I made two. I would let you eat on the couch but I just cleaned it the other day."

Dean shook his head and looked behind him. There was a corner bench around a small table, like in diners. Dean wanted to say he wasn't hungry, that he was too upset but his body disagreed. So, he joined the man and took the offered burger. It was delicious, a moment of bliss, soon replaced by bitterness. Sam.

He looked at his host, who didn't look back. The man was pale, he had lines under his eyes and all his movements were very, very slow. Dean had a vague impression that he had heard the guy's name but it wasn't coming back. Well, time to be sociable a little:

"I'm Dean." No reaction. "Dean Winchester."

"I know."

Dean growled:

"And you are...?"

The man sighed and finally looked up:

"My name is Castiel. This is my home and I'm helping a friend hiding you like that. You got other questions?"

The tone was annoyed enough for Dean not to press it. The situation was clear, anyway, he was safe, his thigh hurt horribly and Sammy wasn't there. Although he wanted to know if they had found his body, he doubted that Castiel could tell him. The last mouthfuls of food were hard to swallow.

He got up, putting all his weight on his left leg, when he felt the floor sway. He grabbed the table and put a hand on his forehead. No, he didn't have a fever. He walked cautiously to the couch but Castiel spoke again, in this tired, toneless voice Dean was still not getting used to:

"Perhaps I could show you your room. It was easier to let you sleep in here the other day, but I'd appreciate to have my living room back."

While he opened a door next to the fridge, Dean wondered at the words "other day". How long had he been out?

This time when he felt the room rock, he saw the ceiling lamp move. It didn't feel like an earthquake and anyway, they were too far from California, weren't they? He had no idea where he was but he was sure Henricksen hadn't driven for more than a few hours before dropping him in here.

"I hope you're not seasick. It's normally quite calm but there's a lot of wind outside."

Dean followed Castiel in a small room with a twin bed tucked under a round window:

"What are you babbling about?"

Castiel opened the bed and patted a pillow:

"This is a barge. An old one at that. I don't own a car so this is how I travel."

"You mean a boat?"

"Yes, a boat on a canal. Or rivers, I have a very long itinerary... Only call me if it's important, I need to focus. We'll look at your wound tonight."

A freaking boat... Would it shield him from Crowley or from the FBI? Well, it had until now, it seemed. This Castiel guy didn't sound worried, although Dean could well imagine him staying stoic and maybe a little bored even during a shooting. It was like he didn't have a soul.

The bed swayed, softly, Dean went to sleep. When he woke up, some time later, he didn't move, just looked at the piece of sky he could see through the window. It was grey outside.


	3. Down the rabbit hole

Dean stayed in bed the next few days. Sometimes the barge moved but he didn't know where to, nor did he ask. He didn't care. Sam would have loved the boat, ask a thousand questions, correct Dean when he would use the wrong term. He would surely have made Castiel smile, he was that sweet. Dean's heart was hollow and his eyes dry. The loss was too much for him and it was his fault. Back there, he should have jumped, pushed his brother out of the way, taken the bullet for him and he hadn't. He had been egotistical, driven by fear, while Sam was being righteous, defending the innocent, even one who had fooled and manipulated him. He was pure, somebody to protect at all cost and yet Dean had failed...

In the back of his mind, memories popped out, showing his brother at random times, whether as an adventurous toddler rummaging around in cupboards while Dean hid away all the knives and poisonous products, or as a graduate from Stanford, looking silly and as proud as Dean felt at that moment. Sam who wouldn't stop growing, who wore long hair because he liked it. He didn't see Dean punch the guys who called him "a freaking girl" or worse. He didn't walk to school alone, Dean was always with him. He looked adorable but he wasn't weak. He faced their father when John forbid him to go to college. He was so much stronger than Dean, so much better he was the one who should have survived.

The wound looked worse than Dean would have thought. The first evening, Castiel very patiently changed the bandage and applied the medicine with the cat and dog logo on it that the vet had put in a bag for him. Dean was so down, he couldn't find the energy to feel embarrassed. Here he was sitting in boxers, on the mattress, his naked leg trembling slightly, as it did non stop since the shooting, looking at a male, who wasn't a doctor or a nurse, wrap him up with care and a sort of icy kindness that made Dean wonder whether the man loathed his presence here, or just didn't mind it. He would have preferred him to look angry or frustrated. All was better than this dull-looking face.

Castiel brought food on a tray that he left on the night table. Once he silently handed Dean a thermometer then went out the door.

He came back five minutes later, asking:

"So, how much?" Dean shrugged and Castiel sighed: "Okay, I'll give you five more minutes."

Dean didn't take his temperature. What if he died, anyway? Sam wasn't there to miss him.

But Castiel didn't give up until he caved in. It turned out he _had_ a fever. Instead of giving him regular stuff, Castiel came with a spoon containing honey and a weird liquid. It tasted so foul Dean spit it out on Castiel's shirt.

The man looked down, took his spoon and came back with a bigger one:

"I've added lemon juice. Now swallow."

Dean obeyed. Whatever hippie stuff he had been fed, it worked, clearing the fog in his head like the wind on the canal every morning. It didn't heal his mind, though. Dean hadn't dared ask for a glass of whiskey but his body craved for alcohol. He knew he didn't deserve the relief anyway. He had to face his cowardice and accept it.

The next morning, he rebelled a little from his apathy. Today was a Friday, a least he thought it was. Castiel had alluded to a farmer market for the next day, for which he needed to have reached a specific town. Dean ventured back in the living room, to take his mind of the creeping guilt, but didn't find his host. He hopped around and found a cabin at the front with a freaking big wooden shipping wheel. Castiel was handling it, his eyes focused on the canal, his gestures precise as the muscles on his arms moved gracefully. Dean felt safe, just watching him.

He tried a conversation:

"So, this market thing?"

Castiel grumbled something, stirred on the right, then on the left. After a minute he answered:

"Yes, what about it?"

"Oh... I was wondering? Do you need to get there to get some fresh food? I guess your grocery bill will double now that I'm here. I would pay you back but I can't use my bank card and I barely have any cash."

Castiel spared him a glance, then went back to stirring:

"I understand. Yes the market will be the occasion to buy food, but also for me to make money."

Dean waited but as nothing more came, he asked:

"What do you sell?"

"Honey."

"You make it yourself?"

"Yes. Every stop I take is to one of the beehive farms in my watch. None of the land belongs to me but I'm an expert on beekeeping so some friends are letting me use it and in exchange they get free jars."

Dean nodded. When it wasn't mixed with disgusting plants, Castiel's honey was delicious:

"So, you'll be gone the whole morning?"

Castiel shook his head:

"One of the sellers will come here with some food and will take the products. I don't like to see too many people."

Dean believed him. The man was the definition of a hermit. There was a large library taking up every free space on the walls, filled with battered pocket editions. No TV set or computers no cells, it was a miracle Henrickson had managed to contact him.

Castiel took a big beekeeping-suit out of a closet, put it on and crossed the little plank leading to the embankment with big steps, looking like an astronaut ready to walk the moon. Dean looked at the trees and the muddy path, so near and inaccessible. He wondered if his face was posted in police stations. If that was the case and things somehow worked out, the FBI trick would be out of the question from now on. He and Sam would have to think of something else... He closed his eyes. Who was he fooling? The Winchester team was no more. He was useless, a burden for total strangers who took pity on his sorry ass.

After a few hours, he looked into the cupboards and started working on dinner. There was some steak in the fridge and a few vegetables. He cooked the meat but also fixed a tomato salad in memory of Sam's "rabbit food". He would sell his soul to have him standing right here and tease the hell out of him as he had never agreed to preparing salads while his brother was alive. There were a few tears in it but he masked them with some sauce.

The man from space finally came back, with a small bag. He went to his room to change while Dean set the table and put the food on it. He heard the steps stop behind him:

"You cooked?"

"Yeah... Hope you don't mind. My leg's better and I thought you would like it if everything was ready."

"I do." Castiel slipped behind the table: "Thank you, Dean. Victor was right, you are a good person."

Dean didn't answer.

"You can help yourself to the books you know." Castiel said while Dean washed the dishes.

Dean had spotted the sci-fi "section" with all the Vonnegut books but he didn't feel like reading. "Thanks. I'm not a big reader."

Castiel gazed at him, something he hadn't done for a long time. His eyes looked pensive and warmer. It was strange how much it changed his whole face, making him look more human, more handsome even.

"What about your brother?"

Dean pinched his lips. He wanted his voice to sound normal but he was aware it was just a broken whisper:

"He loved to read. He studied law so he had to, but he also liked fiction a lot. I think you guys would have gotten along."

"How are you coping?" Dean looked up, meeting Castiel's eyes, not bothering to hide his pain anymore. "I see. Victor told me the scene was a mess, you were lucky."

"Not lucky, no, just a coward."

The other man gave a start "How so?" His tone was like steel as if he was regretting helping Dean if that was the case

"I hid. It was a reflex but it cost Sammy his life."

"Really? Do you have an idea why you had this reflex?"

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't your first dangerous case, I guess. What was your purpose?"

Dean was stumped. He reflected for a few minutes then he replied:

"I guess I wanted to shoot at the goons. It's always more effective if they can't see you."

Castiel relaxed:

"Well, then you were efficient, not a coward."

This revelation should have helped but Dean still felt guilty.

Castiel pressed on:

"What happened else?"

And suddenly, Dean knew:

"We fought on the way to Crowley's. The last word I said to him were nasty. I loved him so much but he died before we could reconcile."

"Well" Castiel said, and for the first time his voice was kind "That is unfortunate, it's true, but that's not what killed him. Cut yourself some slack."

Once again, Castiel was giving him an order and Dean had to obey.

He got up, his hands on the bench to help his balance and walked to his room when he heard Castiel call him:

"Dean, wait! Do you play board games?" He turned and nodded. Castiel lifted the couch and extracted a box

"'Sorry'? Isn't that a child game?"

"You want to play or not?" Even then, the tone was commanding.

"Yeah, okay, don't be a dick about it."

They played for two hours. When he went to bed, Dean felt lighter. The guilt had been replaced by sadness. Now, he just missed Sam. Castiel was a poor substitute. Fortunately, Dean's brain was too tired to listen to his heart, so he slept well.


	4. Gabriel

The next morning, after breakfast, Dean went back to his room with the Vonnegut book and stole a pack of crackers on the way. He had looked for beer in the kitchen when cooking the day before, or wine or, well, anything to fog his brain a little but it seemed Castiel didn't drink.

Around 8, there was a commotion and a loud voice shouting outside his door. After a few minutes, he was shocked to hear Castiel yell:

"Gabriel, that is not funny! You could have dropped them!"

Dean looked tiredly at the door. He hoped Castiel's friend wouldn't stay long. His leg hurt a lot and he was fighting the urge to contact Victor to ask if Sam had been returned to Jess, or Bobby, if there was a funeral, if there was a way he could attend. That was another way of betraying Sammy, not even saying goodbye, not being there to support those who had loved him.

He could hardly see the written page in front of him. At some point, he was rereading the same sentence for the fifth time, it was still making no sense, when the door was banged open. He gave a start, winced at the pain and looked in terror at the man at the doorstep. He didn't look very fierce, especially with the lollipop in his mouth, barely five foot tall, looking like a big mischievous child, smirking at Dean before turning away to shout:

"Oops, looks like it's a "he", not a "she", then. But he's yummy anyway, looks like you're having fun at last. I was worried I would have to send you a professional, one of these days..."

Castiel came into the room, looking furious:

"I told you not to pry Gabe. This is serious. Now go sit at the table, we all have to talk."

He pushed Gabriel out of the room, grabbed Dean's shoulder and dragged him with him. Dean bit his lips not to react when his leg hit the frame but he still let out an unmanly whimper. Castiel stopped immediately. He rubbed his eyes and face, took a big breath in and whispered:

"I'm sorry Dean, I'm losing my temper, it is unworthy of me."

Gabriel was seated on the bench, looking like he had just gotten detention. There was a Peter-Pan-like hat placed next to his hand. He glanced at Dean and winked. Dean sat opposite him with a sigh. Castiel stayed standing, hands flat on the table:

"We are friends, Gabriel, and I'm grateful for all the help you've provided, but what you did is unacceptable. This is my home and you're not welcome to look around as you please."

Gabriel pouted. Dean was starting to like him, although he was still worried.

"I get it, Cassie, but it's not as if I could have found some marijuana plants or something, you're such a goodie-goodie, I can't even tease you. And for the hundredth time, call me Gabe. It's fine if you like both flavors of lovin', you don't have to hide your guests for me, I swear I won't try to steal him."

Dean looked daggers at him, which made Gabriel chuckle. He looked at Castiel, at his bent back, at the lines around his eyes and it struck him. The man was in pain, as much as he was, he was just better at hiding it. Even though he had no idea what made him sad like that, Dean felt whiny compared to him. He asked softly:

"You think we can trust him?"

"No." Castiel answered wearily "_Gabe_ is a man-child..."

"Hey! Don't use my nickname for the first time to speak ill of me, please, or I'm out of here and you can go sell your honey on your own."

Castiel reacted fast, his hand like steel around Gabriel's wrist:

"Listen to me at least, then you'll decide. This man here," He waved at Dean "is on the FBI's wanted list for attempted murder."

Gabe whistled, then schooled his features:

"That's why you're walking funny? I thought there was another reason maybe..."

"Gabe!"

"Okay, stop yelling. Just tell me why you're harboring a criminal. I know you quit but still..."

"It's more complicated. He is innocent, although he can't prove anything."

Dean felt irritated at being talked about as if he wasn't present. He didn't say anything, though. Castiel still looked horribly tense and Dean felt the urge to brush the man's back to ease things a little. Castiel was still talking:

"Gabriel, it is of the utmost importance that you keep quiet about Dean. A dangerous man, with lots of connections and hired killers is after him and if the words got out, we could all be killed."

"Not if I'm here to protect your asses, Cassie, I don't look much, but I can hold my own in a fight." Dean smiled. Gabe patted his arms:

"Looks like Dean and I are fine, Castiel. You know I'm rarely serious but I get it, my mouth is sealed. I won't mention your fugitive... Wait a minute, I know how tight you can be, you won't have enough food and it's not like you can afford much more."

Castiel looked hurt as Dean turned to him:

"Why didn't you say it? I can't stay if it's such an inconvenience. I should leave and look for a job. Maybe I'll escape notice and that way you'll be safe."

Castiel didn't reply. His eyes were bearing into Dean's as the two men stared at each others, and a small smile appeared on his lips. Because Dean was leaving?

"Thank you, Dean, that's very noble of you, but you can't go anywhere until your leg is healed. I gave my word that I would look after you and I don't intend to fail that promise. So you're staying. I can always find a way to make ends meets."

"I'll help" Gabriel said, breaking the intense gazing as Castiel turned to his friend "I'll bring you what I haven't sold. Plus the girl who sells meat has a soft spot for me. If I mention a date, I think I can come back with a few more steaks."

"That's very noble of you too, Gabe." Castiel's tone was soft again.

They all got up and Dean helped Castiel fill the cupboards and the fridge, while Gabriel left, putting his hat back on his head, with a : "I'll be back by noon! Unless my good looks get me laid of course."

Dean didn't know if he was allowed to ask about Cas' depressed look. The man had frightened him when he was chastising Gabriel and given how secret he was, Dean doubted he would tell him anything. And what comfort could Dean bring anyway? He was broken, living with another broken man. Maybe, they just needed to be quiet and respectful around each other, that didn't require much effort, at least not when Gabriel was around.

Gabriel was punctual, crossing the plank at exactly noon.

"Apparently, you didn't get laid." Dean teased.

Gabriel grinned:

"That's because, I'm a gentleman, Dean-o" Dean winced at the nickname. "I may have her number hidden on my person, though. And here's some meat for you ungrateful guys."

"Thank you, Gabriel" Castiel said, coming back from the front cabin "I'm sorry I was so stern, earlier. I do appreciate your friendship, I assure you. And I trust you."

Gabe looked a little taller, after that. He and Dean talked a little, after that, about movies, while Castiel finished cleaning the place up. Dean wondered if he ever went to the movies. Probably not, too many people...

Before Gabe left, he took something from his bag and discreetly handed it to Dean with a wink. It was a bottle of scotch. Dean mouthed a grateful 'Thank you' and got a quite dirty wink in response.

In the evening, Castiel looked distant again. Dean couldn't help feeling hurt. The loneliness was bearing on him. It was like when Sam went to college and he was left alone with their father. John had stopped caring about Dean long ago and kept disappearing to bars and poker sessions. Dean was working long shifts but all his money went to his dad. He couldn't say no, even then, he loved him too much. Then John had left and Sami returned. He wouldn't anymore.


	5. Loaded dice

The market day and meeting Gabe was the most eventful thing to happen for quite a while. Cas drove the barge to another location, then another, sometimes to places without beehives. They left the canal and entered a river lined with bushy trees and even a few small islands filled with water birds and reeds.

Castiel was infuriatingly slow, which was exasperating Dean, although he would reluctantly admit it was a good thing for his own recovery. Nothing was hastened, meals took a long time, in silence, with both men looking either down at their plate or out the window but never at each other. Sometimes, Dean would go sit on the barge's deck and take in the sunshine, as much as he could, while Castiel was quietly getting things ready to move again. Of course, Dean only did that whenever they were in a very remote location. Castiel could be quite forceful in terms of safety. And when Dean would just shrug, because, after all did he have that much to live for? Cas would put his foot down:

"We could both get killed if you're found. I would very much not like to die today. I have a beehive waiting for me and they really need my help."

That brought the ghost of a smile on Dean's lips until Cas turned away from him and ignored him again.

But the turtle-like speed had drawbacks. Dean still had no idea where they were but it wasn't far enough from the deathly threats that kept him awake at night. A part of him still wanted to see the next day, sometimes talking in Sam's voice and he knew he owed his brother that. If he had died instead (and he still wished that, so very much), he would have wanted Sam to live a good life without him. He appreciated Cas' presence a little more now. Of course, they weren't really friends, but Cas was nice to look at even if he wouldn't talk. It could be worse.

He cooked a lot, and soon, Cas let him do it all the time. It helped focus the mind, forget the pain a little and also made him feel a little useful. He couldn't do much more and Castiel still had to change Dean's sheets or wash his clothes.

Dean brought up card games one day. Castiel looked at him like he had grown a second head, then shrugged:

"I don't think I own a card deck."

"You don't think?"

"Sometimes Gabriel leaves things in the barge and I find them later. Some items were quite... racy, actually."

Dean hid his laugh. Castiel looked like he'd never watched any porn. They looked around until Dean found a small cupboard in the hallway. Cas knelt and frowned:

"I had never seen that one."

"It's locked. Do you think you'd have the key?"

"It's the same one for every lock. Wait a minute."

Cas came back and crouched next to Dean, his breath on his neck. It wasn't the first time Cas had forgotten about personal space, so Dean didn't react. In the cupboard, they did find a card deck and a checkerboard. There were also dice and Cas gave an awkward smile:

"This I can play. Do you know yams?"

Dean was busy recovering from the shock of witnessing the smile. He sat on the wooden floor and shook his head. Cas stood up:

"I played it a lot at work, I'll show you."

The game sounded suspiciously like poker, although it didn't involve any betting. Castiel was focused, his blue eyes following each dice until it landed, as if he could will them to follow his command. Dean's eyes followed Cas' hands, watching his slender fingers gently shake the dice before releasing them.

Once they had played for a while, Cas put some water in the kettle and prepared some tea. Dean grabbed the dice and blew on them:

"My turn to teach you. How about Gin? It's 52 card deck, isn't it?"

They played a lot that afternoon. At some point, Cas described a French dice game, called 421:

"How come you learn that, Cas?"

"Work."

"Not beekeeping then? I don't think bees are good at games. Or do you mean Gabriel?"

Cas shook his head. He pushed the dices away and sighed:

"I used to work as an FBI agent. That's how I knew Victor."

"Oh!" Cas looked so non-threatening that picturing him holding a gun felt ridiculous. On the other hand, it explained his bossy-ness "Were you his partner?"

"No... My partner was French. He's the one who taught me the dice games. He was very funny."

But Cas didn't look amused at the memory. His eyes were almost dead. Dean felt a shiver in his spine:

"What happened?"

"You don't want to know."

"Why? Because you'd have to kill me? Get in line then."

Another smile rewarded Dean. He was getting good. Cas got up and poured the water on the tea leaves, then said:

"Balthazar was an airhead. He liked the action and catching bad guys, but he was irresponsible. He made many mistakes and one had..." He gulped and Dean could have sworn there was a tear fighting to get out of Castiel's eyelids "... unfortunate consequences. I quit after that. It was that or kill him."

Dean sat up straight, all the lightness of the afternoon forgotten. Castiel's voice was so dark and dangerous, even he was frightened. He didn't say anything, hoping Cas would calm down and change the subject which he did:

"The way you talk about Sam sometimes... It feels like he's your son."

Dean didn't want to talk about that, but Castiel was opening up and he felt he had to give something. His voice shook:

"He kind of was. Four years younger. Our Dad was... not good at parenting. I did what I had to do."

Castiel looked up, his blue eyes piercing through Dean's defenses:

"It's very commendable. I know the feeling. My wife left when my daughter was a toddler. I had to take over both parenting roles."

Cas was a Dad? He had sex once? Dean felt bad for underestimating the guy, his respect for him peaking:

"Where is she?"

"Who? My wife?"

"No... I meant... your daughter?"

"She's dead."

Dean felt the bile in his mouth. He had asked one question too many. Given how he, himself didn't want to talk about losing Sam, he couldn't even fathom how Castiel felt in that moment. He had been a _goddamn_ father and... no...

Dean rarely met kids, as an adult. Yet the idea of one getting hurt was unsettling. Kids weren't supposed to die, period. And Castiel, who was a sweet soul, wasn't supposed to turn into a zombie because of that. The pity flowed through him, making him lift his hand to reach for Castiel but he stopped it. He did know about hurt and he knew about pride.

He waited, for Castiel to open up, or change the subject but instead, the man grabbed his cup of tea and walked out. Dean couldn't follow him on land and he didn't want to. He wanted to leave, get his life back, see Sam again and forget about this beautiful weirdo whose pain was so heartbreaking to witness.

So, he took a clean bandage in the cupboard, along with the medicine and quietly sat on his bed, twisting his leg to reach every part of his wound.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean didn't look up and replied, his teeth grinding as he tried not to let his physical pain show:

"I didn't want to disturb you, man. What you said... I don't want you to... I shouldn't have..."

Castiel knelt next to the bed, sighing:

"No, it's fine. You have been through something similar, I realized that, earlier so I should be able to relate and express empathy. I'm sorry if I still fail."

Dean frowned:

"You didn't, Cas. You helped a lot the other day, when you took the guilt out of my head. That's why I needed, even though it's not completely gone."

"It never is. I would know. I have been told I couldn't have done anything else,but I still thought that if I hadn't been her father... if I hadn't chosen that job..."

It shouldn't be possible for those blue eyes to show emotions but Castiel's looked devastated. This time, Dean didn't stop his hand from grazing Cas' cheek and landing on his shoulder.


	6. Harmony

The barge stayed one day more at its landing. Now that Castiel had let Dean see his vulnerable side they began to talk more, on various subjects. It came more and more easily, although there were subjects they avoided. Castiel had a great sense of humor, with perfect deadpan delivery.

Dean relaxed, his mind beginning to clear of the fog that had entrapped it. Although he was still getting impatient about the limitations of his body. He couldn't wait to be fully independent. Then he would finally not have to let Castiel take care of his wound, leaving him passively staring at the man's face, marveling at the length of his eyelashes for instance. It was freaking him out a little, holding still while Cas touched him (he was always "Cas" in Dean's mind when they were this close.)

He stole Castiel's map, once and tried to understand where they had been. It was difficult to read as he wasn't used to nautical stuff and it was filled with scribbled annotations. A finger landed in front of him:

"We're here. We'll follow the river to that point."

"What's the name? Dawson's Creek?"

"No, it's Downfield. What's Dawson?"

"Never mind... You write like a pig, anyway." Castiel looked up with a smirk. Dean liked when he did that.

"Maybe, but that is only for my benefit, so it doesn't matter."

"What if you get sick and I have to drive the boat myself?"

"I would never trust you with it, Dean."

Cas looked strangely serious and troubled after this. Dean tried to lighten things, putting a hand on his chest in a mocking attempt of outrage:

"I am an excellent driver. Never even had a scratch on my car!"

"This isn't a car, Dean, nor a boat. It's a barge and it needs someone with experience at the wheel."

"Did you get specialized training?"

"No..." Castiel paused but didn't close up "I've always like boats but mostly at the sea. My dad bought the barge when he retired, and that's the only thing I inherited from him a few years ago. I didn't have enough money to buy a new car when I started my honey business so I bought a book and followed the instructions very thoroughly."

Dean was impressed and patted Cas' arm. He could feel Cas stiffen under his touch so he dropped his hand to his side. They spent an hour on the map, with Castiel showing Dean where he intended to go and where the market was situated:

"We won't be there on Saturday, it's way too far."

"I know, I only go there every fortnight."

"Every _what_?"

"Two weeks. Unless I have an engine problem. It happened once. Gabriel was very worried."

"Didn't you call him?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't own a phone."

Dean had forgotten. Sometimes he felt he had traveled back in time. The fridge and the electronic radars, that allowed Castiel not to scratch the barge, were the only reminders of the modern world.

Castiel told him about his favorite books and listened with wondrous patience to Dean vehemently protesting that Vonnegut was the only author worth reading. So Castiel agreed to read one of his novels and handed Dean _Tortilla Flat_. Every morning, after breakfast, they sat on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, and read a chapter or two, stopping to read aloud a great quote or, in Dean's case, laugh aloud at one of Steinbeck's jokes. Castiel smiled at him, and a long moment stretched between their locked eyes, before they went back to their reading.

They played cards every night, upgrading to games with betting, usually red beans. Dean had his own ass handed to him more times than he would have expected. Sometimes he joked that they should play strip poker and got a glare in response, followed by a thoughtful look.

Castiel learned fast and focused with ease. Dean spent too much time watching the way he would scrunch his nose or move his hair, and missed a few great opportunities.

Castiel's life might have seemed intensely boring at first, but Dean was starting to like the slow rhythm more. He would watch the sunsets, or cackle at the comical way two cranes were walking in the river bank and that would make his day.

And while Castiel didn't know much about pop culture, they could talk about art. Dean was more knowledgeable of course, trained to spot a fake Renoir or able to tell the exact year any famous painting had been done. Castiel was more of an amateur, having taken his daughter to museums (his voice was strained but he could mention her. Dean wanted to hug the hell out of him but he never dared) and attended the occasional art course in college.

They were careful with the food supplies but one afternoon, Castiel came back holding something flat wrapped in a cloth. It smelled like heaven, which meant it was pie.

"The farmer's wife, Anna, came to say hello as I was leaving the beehive. She insisted I come to have tea and then offered me this. I think it's blueberries."

Dean was grinning like an idiot. Castiel put the pie on the table and cut it in small slices.

"I assume by the look on your face that you like pie."

Dean moaned in pleasure, as he took a first bite:

"It's the best there is, no arguments possible."

"I don't think you're very open to arguments. You're very passionate about your tastes. Claire was a lot like that."

His voice wasn't as strained as usual, so Dean tried his luck.

"What happened to her?"

Cas sighed:

"Dean, I don't..."

"Come on, Castiel, this is eating you alive. Have you talked with a shrink after it happened?"

"No. As I said, I quit. Balthazar tried to explain to me why he had taken such a risk with the drug dealers we were working against and that he never thought they would attack him like that and I was so sick of listening to him... I punched him, broke his nose, I think, and went to Gabriel's farm to ask him for shelter. I worked there for a while and sent my resignation letter by mail."

"I don't get it. How did your daughter ended getting hurt?"

Castiel couldn't answer. He was sobbing. It was so heartbreaking that Dean acted without thinking. His arms closed around the broken man letting him cry on Dean's sweater. A small reply caught his ears:

"They put a bomb. Balth and I were finishing something and, after that, I had planned some vacation with Claire. She was waiting in the car..."

Dean had been wrong. Castiel didn't feel better after getting things out. He was unresponsive, wailing and swearing. After a forceful "Fuck!" that almost pierced Dean's eardrum, he decided that they both needed outer help. So, doing his best to keep the embrace, Dean walked crab-like to the small cupboard in his room where he had hidden the scotch. Castiel frowned but didn't refuse. He took a gulp directly from the bottle and Dean did the same.

After half the alcohol had disappeared, Castiel's sobs subsided. Dean thought he was getting sleepy so he pulled Cas into his side to help him on his own bed. But then he felt alcohol-imbibed lips pressed against his, followed by a wretched pleading:

"Dean, please. Help me forget."


	7. Healing power

Dean blamed the alcohol. He blamed the despair on Castiel's face and the fact that it hurt his heart so much, he would do anything to make it go away. That included kissing Cas back, with as much force as possible, because, if they were about to make a mistake, he figured let's make it good. Castiel was still crying, as he unbuttoned Dean's shirt. To Dean, this would have been a mood extinguisher but strangely, he felt more and more aroused. Castiel, all quiet and responsible, was going _wild_. Dean could hardly follow, from his nipples being bitten, to his ass being plundered and suddenly a certainty flashed through his muddled brain like a lightning bolt. He was going to bottom.

All the strange new sensations were softened thanks to him being drunk. In fact, they were barely strange, comforting really, as if Castiel had a healing power somehow, in his fingers. Dean felt he was melting, his skin like modeling clay in Cas' hands. He shuddered each time a pair of chapped lips found a new place to land on. In fact, he was shivering, whining. He offered his exposed neck. Castiel started kissing it with fervor, although at times, he missed his mark and kissed Dean's ear or the pillow.

Castiel and him were naked now, and Dean had no idea who had taken their clothes off. Their eyes met. Castiel was still broken, still in demand and Dean reacted instinctively, parting his own legs, offering himself. Castiel invaded him, with a clumsy but intense finger and Dean just lost all kind of control:

"Castiel... Castiel... Yes... Cas..."

Castiel wasn't answering, too busy making use of Dean, stretching him wide to accommodate him. Dean had never been with a man. The mere thought would have him tense up and scoff, but here, in this bed, on this barge, cut off from the world and lost in his bereavement, he found that he didn't mind. And when Cas pressed a certain place, deep inside, he realized it was very worth it.

Cas had stopped crying. His eyes were harsh and somehow soft at the same time. He was all muscles, lean and strong, unforgiving. He slipped in. Nothing in Dean's mind reminded him of protection or lubricant. It hurt, like seven hells, but the look on Cas' face was making it okay.

They met each other, Castiel pushing, Dean shaking, even though their eyes were now closed. Dean was yelling his pain, his pleasure, his need and his sadness. Castiel was focusing on him, whispering now:

"So beautiful... you're amazing Dean... so good..."

And just like that, Dean sobered up. He was used to drinking and not a light-weight either. Here he was, on his back, fucked by Castiel and he didn't mind. In fact, he liked it, a lot. The pleasure was still building up but he couldn't do anything about it, Castiel was in the way. Should he ask him to touch it? Would Castiel listen?

He tried, shyly:

"Cas... please... need your hand on... So close..."

Castiel stopped in mid-thrust, looking upset. Yet, his hand traveled to Dean's dick and started stroking. He was having difficulty breathing, so Dean brushed his back, saying:

"It's okay, Cas... I'm good... It's good... Come with me..."

Castiel let out a rush of air, hitting Dean even stronger than before. Dean let out an undignified whimper and lost it. A feeling of contentment washed all over him. He was at peace.

A few seconds later, Castiel came too. He fell onto Dean heavily. Dean rolled him over. Cas moved and retracted. It hurt even more. Dean came to the conclusion that gay sex was awesome but no lube wasn't an option anymore. Even honey would do...

He fell asleep almost instantly, holding Castiel in his arms.


	8. Lonely together

Dawn was lighting up the cabin slowly, painting the wooden panel in pale pinks. Dean blinked, his mind foggy and his body warmer on one side. A sharp pain made him wince and he blinked, wondering sleepily why his backside felt like it had been... He sat up, fully awakened, pushing Castiel's naked body a little off the bed. The man grunted, rolled over, but didn't really wake up.

Dean's skin was shivering. He felt so weird. Apart from the mind-numbing pain, he didn't feel regret or even mild horror. Casual sex wasn't foreign to him even though he'd never been with a man. In fact, it had been damn good and he felt ready to try it again. He still felt the hurt of missing his brother but it was just bearable now. Maybe they could help each other like that, give physical comfort for the personal loss.

He let his fingers thread through Castiel's hair and whispered:

"Hey...Cas..." The nickname that had slipped away during the act came naturally. He looked at Cas' freakishly long eyelashes, as they fluttered open. When he was sleeping, he looked like an angel, handsome and vulnerable.

Cas stared at him for a long while, as if he didn't remember who he was. Then, suddenly he jumped out of the bed, looked down at his stated of undress, looked up at Dean with a guilty look, then ran through the door.

"Cas...wait!"

There was no way Dean could catch him, so he grabbed his clothes, put them on as quickly as he could and wobbled his way to the kitchen.

He prepared some eggs, careful not to let them burn. They had to watch their food stock and had decided to make one-ingredient breakfasts. After their activity last night, Dean was starving and hoped Castiel was too so that he would smell the eggs and come to the table. They could talk calmly about what had happened. After all, awkwardness wasn't an option given they were stuck together. Unless... and a cold dread ran through Dean's lungs at the thought, unless Castiel decided it was too much and threw him out. He had nowhere to hide and he knew that Crowley's men were much more stubborn than FBI. He just had the will to live back, he would try to hide and survive, but his leg was still a handicap.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the scratching of a chair. He looked up at Castiel who had his blank mask on. Dean squared his shoulder and prepared for the yelling, but Castiel spoke softly:

"I'm sorry, Dean."

What was he sorry for? Dean didn't answer, cautious. Cas gulped and looked down:

"I took advantage of you. I would blame the alcohol consumption but that wouldn't be a good excuse."

That didn't seem like an rejection, so Dean answered:

"It's alright, Cas... We both lost control. You don't have to feel bad. You were really sad yesterday, I'm glad I could help you..."

"Help?" Cas was staring again. It was so hard to know how he felt. He sighed: "I didn't need help, Dean. I'm not weak."

"That's not what I meant! I know you're not. But the memories..."

Castiel sighed:

"They won't get erased by me having sex. Believe me I've tried."

Dean gave up. He was incapable of communicating what he felt. He wasn't sure what it was, anyway. So, he plunged his fork in his eggs and ate silently. Castiel followed his lead.

Castiel drove the barge to a new location and left soon after, carrying his space costume in a bag. Dean was feeling sick to his stomach. The backside pain was fading, but now, he felt rejected. He thought Castiel would be at least a little grateful. After all, he had taken Dean, without even asking. And Dean was sure he had liked it at the moment. But apparently, he was the one who was weak.

He prepared dinner but ate without waiting for Castiel. He left a note to look in the oven, then went to his room with a book. He laid on his bed, trying to read, but the words danced on the page. He felt lonely after all these quiet moments they had spent playing games or reading next to each other. The only person in the world to like him a little avoided him... the book was closed when the tears fell on it, so it didn't get too damaged. The sadness turned into exhausted slumber.

He was woken up by the sound of his door opening. Out of reflex, he looked for his gun, under the covers and pointed it at the intruder.

"Calm down, Dean, it's me."

In the dark, he made out Castiel's lean figure, wearing boxers and nothing else. Dean put the gun back in its hiding place and watched Castiel walk out and sit next to him.

He opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on and was silenced by a kiss. Then Cas whispered:

"You were right, it helped."

Dean tensed up. The deep rocky voice, filled with need was arousing, but he didn't want a repeat of the night before. It was really too painful and this time he wasn't drunk. Cas sat back and added:

"I brought some lubricant and condoms. Gabriel's thoughtful gift from a while ago." His voice faltered "But if you don't want to... I don't want to force you."

Dean relaxed. Castiel was a great kisser and his hands were making Dean feel hot.

"I want to. But, maybe, more preparation. I've never done it before... with a guy, I mean."

"I have." Dean looked up, surprised. He switched his light on and opened the covers invitingly.

"Gabriel?" Cas let out a chuckle:

"God, no! I wouldn't trust him enough. No, it was someone else... I don't want to talk Dean."

So, they didn't. Dean learned that night, and enjoyed. Cas took his time, entering slowly, making pauses and taking his time.

"This okay? Shall I stop?"

"No, don't... move please, faster."

Dean was melting, feeling like he was river and Cas was the boat navigating him. He felt like a flock of birds were taking off his chest. He felt alive and happy.

But the next morning; Castiel wasn't in the bed with him.


End file.
